


Trading

by Jazzy_Kandra



Category: Cosmere - Brandon Sanderson, Mistborn - Brandon Sanderson, SANDERSON Brandon - Works, The Alloy of Law - Brandon Sanderson
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-13 18:26:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12989919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jazzy_Kandra/pseuds/Jazzy_Kandra
Summary: In which MeLaan is still amazed she could hold her tongue about the events behind the plot of Bands of Mourning for so long. Harmony should be proud.Part of the Mistshot series.





	Trading

**Author's Note:**

> It always seemed odd to me that MeLaan didn’t know, in this she probably knows to much, but it was funnier that way. Sitting is purposefully vague.

“I’ve been thinkin’,” Wayne said, giving her that awkward half-smile of his.  He poured her some whisky.

“Amazing.”

Wayne had great tastes, always gave her the strongest stuff from the liquor cabinet in Ladrian Manner. Even if he had…traded an aluminum spoon (which he had traded a old portrait of Edwarn for, something he swore Wax didn’t want anyways, etc etc) for it and it was, technically, stealing.

“When did you know that Sovereign fellow was the Survivor?”

MeLaan took a slung of whiskey. Half-full already, why did humans have such small shots?

“Oh,” she said, putting on her most  _thoughtful_  and  _wise_ face for a moment. Then dropped it. What was the point? Might as well be honest. Wax had told Wayne  _everything_  he saw (and suspected) from that coppermind, and Harmony had explained certain  _things_  to him. Not everything though, that would’ve taken decades. “About three-hundred-forty years back, I guess.”

MeLaan grinned. He poured her more whiskey at her unspoken request. It  _wasn’t_  manipulation, she couldn’t Push or Pull on emotions. After all, she was a kandra. 

“Damn,” he said eyes not on her face for a mere moment, “when we thought we were chasing after Rashek’s Bands and shit, you and that poorly dressed gent must’ve been laughing your heads off.”

MeLaan finished off her second drink, frowning at the empty mug. This time, Wayne had the decency to just toss her the bottle.

“Figuratively, right?” She smirked. MeLaan had lost a head once or twice. It hurt like hell, but she usually laughed it off afterwards.

“Ah…yeah.” He gave her one of those cute, befuddle looks. Like he couldn’t believe she had just gone  _there_ , though.

Right. Humans. Even Wayne didn’t always comprehend her  _amazing_ jokes.

“I had the hardest time holding my tongue,” she answered, “especially each time you guys called them the Bands of Mourning.”

“Is that why you smirked each time we said it?”

“Yup.”

“Caught ya even covering your mouth, once.” He shrugged. “I just thought you just ate something funny.”

“Hmmm.” Actually, she  _had,_ but she decided not give that away.

“Wasn’t like it was  _our_  fault.”

She cocked an eyebrow, but decide to pour herself another drink.

“Right?”

“You had enough clues to figure it out,” she said, eyeing him.

Wayne just rolled his eyes in loo of replying.

“The spear imagery? The single eye-spike? The stupid temple filled with stupid traps and fake bands?” she said, flinching at the memory of actually having to go through said traps. The block of acid (which hadn’t gotten her), though, was  _unnecessary_. Kelsier should’ve  _known_ better. Acid hurt. Actually, it killed. “It had Survivor of Hathsin written all over it. Even smelled like a con.”

Really, the whole  _thing_  had. VenDell…

She grimaced.

“Uh huh, right.” He shrugged. “Never meant the guy.”

MeLaan nodded. She would neither confirm nor deny  _that_ one.  
  
For the most part at that time, Kelsier had been doing Kelsier things. Like checking on other planets at Harmony’s bequest, or messing around with international politics from the shadows (not at Harmony’s bequest). Things like that. No matter how many times she asked to go, Harmony wouldn’t let her. At least Kell had promised to give her some of that weird sticky Investiture next time he got back from Nal-whatever. (1)

“Kell was rolling in laughter _._ ”

Alright, that was a little exaggerated, but not by much, he was angry  _first._ For some reason he didn’t like being mistaken for the Lord Ruler, she couldn’t fathom why. Being a Fullborn and living for centuries made him rather Lord-Ruler-y, though. (2)

“He’s grateful we didn’t let it fall into the Set’s hands, I guess, didn’t care that you guys thought he was the Lord Ruler, though.”

“Eh, Rashek’s this dark, gloomy guy with great hair and a passion for evil and stability, versus a stylish, handsome fellah who wants to kill off all the nobility and topple society,” he said, “doesn’t sound all  _that_ different.”

In his peculiar Wayne-way, Wayne was right.

“Huh.” She shook her head. “You’ve got a point. Don’t tell him that.”

“Yeah, well,” he said, “don’t have to worry about that, since I’m never gonna meet him, either.”

MeLaan shot him a frown. Whoops.

“Wait, I haven’t, have I?”

“You’re cute when you’re befuddled.”

Before he could say more, she gave him a kiss, and took his whiskey with a slight of hand.

He grinned. Wayne, it seemed, approved of  _that_ trade. 

 

***

 

(1) Its Breath. MeLaan doesn’t remember what it’s called; just figures it would be useful. After all: she’s not a  _scientist_.

(2) This is snarkasm. Kell deserves countless jokes at his expense. Each joke is a punch in the face, you know?


End file.
